


footnotes

by queseyo



Series: illunius [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Canon Era, F/M, Gen, Implied Relationships, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-15 06:48:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8046382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queseyo/pseuds/queseyo
Summary: Footnotes, she thinks, that’s what they are. The possibility of being taken out of history and forgotten at any time. (or, five times angelica and john hear about each other, and the night of satisfied.)





	footnotes

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Toast To The Groom...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7379758) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 
  * Inspired by [Five Times John and Angelica Drank Together (And One Time They Didn't)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6952807) by [UpsideAround](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UpsideAround/pseuds/UpsideAround). 



i.

The first time Angelica hears the name John Laurens is from her sewing circle, women twice her age gossiping over trivial matters that don’t concern them. As a guest she listens, nods when it’s appropriate. _Do tell, Miss Schuyler, you have heard about Henry Laurens’ son? Abandoned a woman for this war. The nerve._

She imagines this John Laurens, her lips curling in disgust at what he’d done. Angelica doesn’t voice her concerns to the circle, and redirects her anger by stabbing new stitches into the cloth, disrupting the pattern. She knows she’ll never meet him, so this will have to do.

 

ii.

To a Miss Angelica Schuyler,

It has come to my attention from a certain friend in this war, that you are the sister of the woman he is trying to court. If you receive any correspondence from him, rest assured, ma’am, anything that might seem of insult should not be taken that way, rather he is just trying to ask for your approval in courting her. My friend, you see, is a persistent and indefatigable man.

I, on the other hand, am apparently to serve as a courier between the two of you. I confess, I did not know how to react when my friend approached me this offer, but I conceded to his request. One will take whatever job is offered in this war, even if it is as silly as sending this letter to you.

Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens, and, until further notice am at your service, ma’am, and of my friend, Alexander Hamilton. I await your reply with eagerness.

I have the honor to be,

Yr. Obdt. Svrt.

J. Laurens

 

John crumples up the letter. He can imagine Angelica Schuyler denying his request—denying Alexander—and he can’t have that. He can’t lose Alexander, not when they’ve both come so far. He tosses the letter in the pile and grabs a fresh piece of parchment.

 

iii.

She receives the letter on an August morning, interrupting the course of breakfast. Eliza raises an eyebrow and then giggles with Peggy.

“Has a man captured your heart, dearest sister?”

“Only you would wish such a horror on my being, Eliza.”

“Do tell, Angelica, who is this mysterious stranger that interrupts breakfast?” Peggy leans forward in her seat, a grin on her face, her hand clasped in Eliza’s.

“A Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens.”

“Alexander’s friend?”

“You know of him.”

“Alexander’s letters are filled with his name. He seems to be a valiant and helpful companion.”

Angelica catches the way Eliza’s face softens, the blush in her cheeks. She grips the letter, feels the paper crumple under her grip. Eliza deserves this, her life is more important to Angelica than anything, even Alexander.

“If you’ll excuse me, dear sisters, I must go see what our friend wants.”

She stands in the hallway, her mouth dry. Eliza and Peggy’s laughter make her flinch. Eliza deserves this, she deserves this and the world, Angelica repeats. She hoists her skirts up too quickly and the letters slices against her palm. Angelica winces at the papercut, but pushes forward. There are more pressing matters than a papercut.

 

iv.

“Angelica Schuyler? Dear Laurens, have you been courting a Schuyler sister?”

“Who hasn’t, Alexander?” John says, a smirk on his lips. He points to the stack of letters Alexander plans to send out, _Ms. Elizabeth Schuyler_ printed on the front.

“How is she?”

“Fine as always. An intellectual match.”

“Does she ask for me?”

There he goes again, John thinks, always one to bring the subject back around to himself. John’s lips tighten, but he presses on.

“When it conveniences her.”

John catches how Alexander’s face falls at the news. The gleam in his eyes dulls, the grip on the quill he holds slackens. Alexander likes to think he’s subtle, believes he can have the upper hand in everything. John has caught all of Alexander’s slip ups since the beginning of their friendship, knows every inch of the man he loves. He never points those flaws aloud, knows criticism from such a dear _companion_ —John spits at the word, hates the taste of it on his tongue—would destroy Alexander. He can’t live with himself knowing he has the possibility of hurting Hamilton.

“I see.”

“Do not worry, Alexander. I will ask her to write to you.”

They don’t talk for the rest of the evening. For once, the silence bothers John.

 

v.

My dearest Angelica,

Time slips through my fingers, mocks me whenever I put my quill to parchment and urge my soul to write to you. The war drags on, as it should. The more time I spend away from New York, the more I long for my dear Eliza, and of course, for your presence.

Laurens has been receiving correspondence from a Ms. Martha Manning. It has come to my attention that he is wed to her, and has a child of his own. I find this surprising, to say the least, considering he had me convinced that he was courting you, dear sister. I suppose this is how it is, and I hate to be the one to have to inform you of such news. I hope you will find a way to forgive me.

The courier must have lost his way, for I did not receive your most recent letter. It ached me, waiting for days upon end, burning candles in hope something would be delivered.

Write to me soon.

Farewell my sister,

A. Hamilton

 

+1

Alexander kisses her hand. “My dearest Angelica, it has been so long.”

“Angelica Schuyler,” She offers her hand. She expects him to kiss it, like Alexander and so many other men she’s mingled with during this night. Angelica watches him shift his weight from one foot to another, lean forward and backwards before taking her hand in his firmly. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“John Laurens, at your service, Miss Schuyler.”

“And I at yours.”

Alexander catches Eliza’s gaze across the ballroom floor. Angelica watches his eyes light up, and feels her own heart sink.

“Would you care for a dance? Perhaps it would be best, for the both of us, to distract ourselves for the rest of the night, don’t you agree?”

“Of course.”

Angelica nods. She curtsies, waits for his fingers to sink into the fabric of her dress. He smiles—wistful, Angelica notes—and she dances. She dances under the glow of the chandelier, spins so fast she hopes she can forget the rest of the night.

* * *

She meets him under the stars, the wine rushing to her head. She manages to walk out into the gardens, and watches as he looks up to the stars, lips moving to something she doesn’t quite catch.

“Funny to find you here, Lieutenant Colonel.”

“The same to you, Miss Schuyler. Shouldn’t you be gossipping with Mrs. Hamilton? Offering her your love and other formalities?”

“Shouldn’t you be drinking with Alexander? Congratulating on his marriage and all.”

They laugh. She raises her glass and his meets hers. The clinking sound echoes throughout the night. She wonders if Alexander hears it, how the sound reflects their mutual grief.

Angelica thinks back to the beginning of the night, Laurens’ speech, her own. The laughter shared between the four of them—happy and true from Alexander and Eliza, painstaking and forced from John and her. Her nails pressed into Alexander’s wrists once he invited her to dance, the words _it could have been us_ so close to his ear but left unsaid.

She doesn’t hate Alexander. She can’t hate him.

“Will we ever be free?” She asks. She knows John catches the longing in her voice by the way he raises his eyebrow at her. Angelica knows he’ll play along to this game. It’ll always be a game to them.

“Alexander takes and takes, my dearest Angelica. Freedom, when it comes to him, is unachievable.”

“Do you believe, dear Laurens, that Alexander will realize the sins he’s committed by making us fall for him?”

“Now Angelica, as the Lord says, it is our fault for being tempted by the devil. We must repent for our own sins.”

She smiles, her lips and teeth ache from faking happiness. They fall back into silence, only broken by John finishing up his glass. He leaves in on the grass and takes her hands in his. He leans forward and maybe, just maybe, if both of them imagine Alexander, they wouldn’t be here.

Angelica knows this is wrong. John must know this, too.

“Forgive me, Lieutenant.”

“Do not apologize, Angelica. You are not at fault.”

He places his hand on her shoulder. She waits for the burn to sink in and for her to pull away—like she did with Thomas, like she shouldn’t have done with Alexander—and gets a cold chill run down her spine. She sees the apology on his lips, and shakes her head.

“It could still be you.”

Angelica laughs. “He never wanted me.  We may be equals but he loves Eliza and she loves him. That is that, John.”

“He loved me once.”

“I know.”

“It will never be enough, but this," He makes a vague gesture in the air. "whatever it is Alexander and I have will have to do. Don’t you agree?”

He smiles. If Angelica wishes hard enough, she can pretend the tears in John’s eyes aren’t of regret, but of happiness. But they are both too old for games, and are no longer children of the war. There is no time for trivial matters of lost and unobtainable love, and Angelica knows they must move on.

She raises her glass.

“To satisfaction, Colonel Laurens.”

“To satisfaction, Miss Schuyler.”

 _To his satisfaction_. 

Footnotes, she thinks, that’s what they are. The possibility of being taken out of history and forgotten at any time. She can deal with that fact, a small note in his happiness, a reminder that both of them existed for him. If that is the price of loving Alexander, she’ll take it.

Their glasses clink. They leave it at that.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! come say hi @[my tumblr ](http://autumni.tumblr.com)


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